


Taste and Refinement

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Crack, Drugs, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim misses the delights of planet RamaRama III. Spock helpfully attempts to recreate them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste and Refinement

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a single-line extra for 2012 [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/), to hit the kinks "service", "oral fixation", "drugs/aphrodisiacs" [wildcard], "gags/silence", and "sensation play". Features a slightly inadvisable experiment with unexpected results. Cracky. Beta'd by [](http://inu-spockya.livejournal.com/profile)[**inu_spockya**](http://inu-spockya.livejournal.com/) and [](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/profile)[nix_this](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/).

 

“Everything tastes different on RamaRama III,” Jim sighs, facing Spock across his desk and resisting the temptation to lean back, put his feet up. “It’s as if…” He waves his arms helplessly. “That wonderful smell the whole planet has, like butter and spices and hay. It’s as if every single thing on the food chain breathes in that smell, and it infuses, so that everything that appears on the dinner table, cabbage to crème brûlée, lettuce to lobster, has a hint of that wonderful taste.”

“There is also a pronounced psychotropic effect on the human—”

“Yes, Spock, but it _tastes so good!_ ”

Spock’s brows pinch in a fraction. “RamaRama III is not a suitable destination for our upcoming shore-leave, Captain. It’s too far off our present course.”

“I know, Spock. I know. And Jim Kirk liking the way things taste there is a wholly illogical reason to drag the entire ship and crew there for shore-leave.”

“Indeed.” Spock’s voice has that happy-but-restraining-it quality it always gets when Jim says something he considers acceptably logical. “Risa is far more convenient, and offers recreational opportunities to suit most—”

“ _Tastes?_ ”

“Temperaments.”

Jim attempts his best skeptical eyebrow. As usual, they both insist on going up together.

“However,” Spock offers, “if you find yourself missing the delights of RamaRama III, you may perhaps be interested to know that, while sojourning there last year, I attempted to bottle the flavour in question. I believe I was moderately successful, although I have not been able to test the specific effects of my distillation on the human palate and nervous system.”

“Why, Spock, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That is exceedingly unlikely.” His melding hand _twitches_ as if he wants to reach out and check, just to be certain.

Well, _someone’s_ in a mood. “Let me make this simple. Spock: we’re off shift in fifteen minutes. You wanna indulge in a little potion-testing, possibly followed by the expression of my unbounded delight at your scientific prowess in the form of great sex?”

Spock gets it this time. Jim can tell by the way he doesn’t correct his loose estimate of the time remaining.

***

“I thought it would be bigger,” Jim complains.

Spock looks from the tiny glass bottle back to Jim again. Raises a brow. “The substance is extremely concentrated. I propose to dilute it in water, one part to fifty.”

“Oh,” Jim says. That will make his dinner, waiting on its tray, rather soggy, but texture is not a high point of starship galley output at the best of times. How all the folks at other tables seem to be enjoying their meals so much is anyone’s guess. If Spock’s extract thing actually summons back that wonderful RamaRaman flavour, perhaps they should mass-produce it for the good of morale?

He watches eagerly as Spock performs his dilutions, then slips the empty measuring device into a plastic bag which he deftly seals before returning it to his tricorder case. “May I?” he murmurs, reaching out a hand towards Jim’s dinner tray.

“Absolutely you may.”

Spock pulls the tray over to his side of the table, then applies his experimental extract with an eyedropper to Jim’s meat and four veg.

Jim can hardly wait. So he just dives right on in.

His first mouthful of mashed potato has him gasping, already more than slightly in love with Spock’s potion. It seems to make beautiful music on his tongue. Coupled with that smell, that peculiar taste, even the wet-cardboard meatloaf becomes something memorably special. His groan is heartfelt. As is his serious dilemma over whether he should wolf the whole lot down in five seconds flat or force himself to _savour_. His dinner is _most definitely_ richly improved by Spock’s Extract of RamaRama III.

It bothers Jim not a jot that Spock is watching very closely as he eats. It bothers him a little more when Spock pitches his voice to privacy and says crisply, “Captain, it would be as well to restrain your more orgasmic sounds of appreciation in the presence of so many impressionable crewmen.”

Jim chokes on his leek, but recovers quickly. He’s about to growl at Spock for that phrasing when it occurs to him that dehydrated, vacuum-sealed, dry-stored, recently reconstituted leek is _delicious_ when enhanced by Spock’s potion. He takes another forkful and can’t help his ecstatic moan.

 _Leek._ His new favourite food. Ever. Worthy of odes, nay, _sonnets_.

Oh, leek, thou bastion of delicious taste  
How shall I ever quit thy influence  
When I for thou my whole career would waste?  
Thou hast me wrapped around thy greenly bole—

Oh, damn, that doesn’t rhyme. Perhaps he could find a rhyme for ‘sway’ instead? Or ‘thrall’? Could he claim that ‘thrall’ and ‘bole’ made a passable assonance? Then again—

He bites into a steamed carrot and is instantly hard. The explosion of carrotness! The wet, chewy texture! That rich, earthy, root vegetable-y smell! Oh, carrot, his new favourite food—

“Captain, you may wish to employ a napkin to wipe away the small quantity of saliva which has—”

Jim tunes out the fuddy-duddy in favour of his green beans. Green beans! So pure and… and… green-tasting!

Time drifts by in a pleasant, tongue-tingling, fragrant haze. Spock stares, particularly when Jim licks his fork clean. And his fingers, just in case. And his plate. But then, hasn’t Spock always had a thing for Jim’s mouth? It’s the kissing thing. He’s always been fascinated by the way humans do it. And obviously Jim has true virtuoso _skill_ in that arena. No wonder Spock’s a little addicted. Mmmm, kissing. Jim wonders if you could put Spock’s potion in chapstick and enhance kissing that way. Mmmm, kissing Spock.

“Come, Captain. It is time to go.”

A hand lands on Jim’s arm, guiding him up to his feet. The hand wants him to cross the mess and go out into the corridor, and Jim is quite happy to obey the hand. He likes the hand. He wonders if it tastes good. Do you think it would mind if he licked it to see?

“Not here, Captain. That is not appropriate conduct for this location. And please endeavour to remain quiet; your utterances betray your intoxication.”

Jim obediently zips his lips. He likes it when Spock tells him what to do, after all. Perhaps when they’re alone, Spock will apply a little drop of that wonderful elixir onto his dick and command Jim to suck it, and Jim will, oh, Jim will, hell, he’d do it right now, right here in the corridor, if Spock wanted. He opens his mouth to say so, but then remembers that Spock wants him to be very, very quiet. So he does that. He’s a good boy. And it’s kind of hot, being quiet and listening to Spock. Not that Jim’s _hearing_ exactly. It seems like too much effort to parse the words. So he just kind of lets that familiar voice wash over him, and only the occasional phrase intrudes on his serenity.

“…may regrettably have to involve Doctor McCoy…”

 _Not Bones! No Bones!_ Jim shakes his head vehemently to convey this message.

Spock says other stuff, too, about dosages and how he must have misjudged something, and something about _potency_ (he, Spock sure is _potent!_ ) and _concoctions_ (hehe, that sounds deliciously dirty), but mostly Jim tunes him out. He feels too good, too contented. And just a little hungry. “Is there any more leek?” he wonders aloud.

 

***END***


End file.
